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RE: ~*Getting To Know You*~

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11/11/2015 10:50:13   
Afina
Weaver of Epic Yarns


 The strike hit true but it would cost him, the dagger drove through the grey matter and as the beast grossed its head back in pain it severed the spinal column, but not before fire flamed up around its jowels and engulfed its head. That was gonna burn anyone within a two foot radius of its skull. The beast then dropped to the ground and the tavern shook roughly. Sana jumped down and dropped her arrow into its quiver as she slung her bow over her shoulder. She knew she needed to work quickly.

"Get back," she half snapped but it was only out of concern. These beasts had a tendency to regenerate. Gripping her dagger and pulling it out of the flesh she rolled the beast with a shove of her shoulder and began to rip through the beasts skin. Leaning onto me side she half laid down and began to kick its chest plate until the bones broke enough for her to be able to pry open the chest cavity. Cutting the heart out she drove a silver arrow into it for the meantime.

"Anyone have any vials? Glass ones, the blood can be used," she asked as she continued to carve the beast apart. She had helped Lob dismember the last one they battled and knew what to do even though her cuts were not near as skilled as his. She was sure there was at least one person in the group that would be better to do this but they didn't know what to look out for and she wanted this done quickly without anyone getting hurt.

She half skinned the beast, taking out certain organs and wrapping them up before tossing them into the hearth. They were no good but would hurt someone if handled wrong. Granted in her quick work she basically ruined all the hide but she didn't care. The blood would be the most useful. The rest not so much.
Post #: 151
11/11/2015 20:33:53   
Sigil
Member

The strike was perfectly lined up, his angle of descent ideal as he focused his energies into the single, solid strike that was to put the creature out of its misery - and theirs. A feeling of destiny; a fixed point in the line of time from this point, leading all the way back to the beginning of existence. Certainty and satisfaction coursed through Keystone as his blow landed, a remarkably executed palm heel strike, driving his tavern-companion's dagger into the brain of the rampaging Hellhound. His moment of martial perfection was achieved. The honor of his teachers and people upheld, the coveted killing strike claimed.

And then its head exploded.

Exploded. This was new. His moment of perfection and glory horrifically transfigured by infernal fire, flung in a painful, outgoing sphere of charring ouch. Although his still-extended hand took the brunt of the damage, the real drama was with his stately woolen long coat. A finely tooled, utilitarian garment, formerly torn and with split seams over the years, but lovingly repaired each time. A holdover from younger days. A thing which was part of his perceived image, an expression of his personality. Tough, yet warm. Common, yet classy. Intimidating, yet protective. It was the outer clothing of an urbanite with the functionality of soldier's wear.

And now it was on fire.

Yes, fire. Upon noting with some surprise that he was indeed on fire, Keystone reacted in the manner of a well-bred nobleman's youngest daughter who just discovered a hairy, grey spider crawling up her neck. With the exception of the swearing, at any rate. His first thought was to find some manner of liquid in which to douse himself. This plan was quickly stymied by the realization that most of the liquids near him were flammable. The flames crept higher up his arm as he began formulating a new plan. His second thought was to lose the coat. His right hand was able to slip out without much fuss, damage to it not as pressing an issue just yet, but his left... His left was still clutching both sets of brass knuckles. In his haste, the sleeve twisted and cuff-buttons snagged on his clenched fist and knuckle dusters. Now hopelessly entangled, the flame took this opportunity to flare up, consuming the softer lining of his prized coat. He had a problem.

He heard Sana's voice mention something, but through the haze of growing panic and fiery crackle of, well, himself, it seemed muffled and far away. She may as well have spoken from the other side of a door, near a waterfall. Keystone had other issues on his mind, to his point of view more important than whatever occupied the archer just then.

Now fully convinced that the fire was going to crawl up the remains of his attached woolen wick, Keystone began to shake the ruined garment in a desperate attempt to dislodge the perilous covering from himself with force rather than tact. Boy, did he shake. His better judgement was waylaid by adrenaline and alcohol, a state in which many before him have regretfully found themselves within.

When his left hand began to feel the growing heat, logic broke and he began to frantically run about the background of the alehouse, trailing the stink of burning sheep's hair, growling an endless stream of obscenities.

"...sod sod bloody sodsodding buggerfrig codswinging bintfistery..." and the like.

The scene in the front of the tavern continued unabated as the large man, still on fire, began beating his flaming assailant upon anything that he thought would help. Support columns, tables, chairs, slow moving patrons that for whatever reason hadn't left yet, the family dog, etc.

Finally, a thought occurred to him. He reached his toasted hand around to his back and pulled his second knife. Laying the coat across the nearest table, he furiously slashed and hacked at the remaining sleeve until thankfully, it fell free. His coat, or what was left of it, sat in a sad heap, blazing along. It was enough to make one cry. Keystone hooked it with his knife, walked it over the the hearth, and gave it as proper a sendoff as he could given the situation.

Silently, ignoring the looks given by others in the establishment, he assessed his damage. Keystone's right hand, his primary, was very crispy. the fact that he was even holding a dagger right now was due to the excitement of the moment. He carefully returned the blade to its resting place and opened his hand.

"This ain't good, not a bit." he mumbled, and untangled the rag that was his coat sleeve from his left hand. Keystone slipped his brass knuckles into his pants pockets. Luckily, the pants were unscathed. His shirt, not so much. While the majority of the fire damage was soaked up by his coat (and his hand), it had ruined his shirt as well. He thought it was for the best, overall, and ripped the remainder off with his left hand. Holding a corner in his teeth, he proceeded to rip it into strips for use as bandages.

Keystone paced while wrapping his hand and arm, making a circuitous path around part of the alehouse, beginning and ending at the table which featured his improvised wound-dressings. Adrenaline wearing down, he realized that his hand was shaking. That, and it really, really hurt.

The image of a shirtless Keystone tended to remind people of a sadistic roadmap. Scars, mostly blade cuts and punctures, crisscrossed his bare form over mountainous expanses of sculpted muscle. If each reminder of wounds long past told a story, it was one to fill several volumes of bardic work. This man had obviously lived a horrifying life, and he was still young. To the trained eye, one may have noted that a few of his scars seemed more methodical - not the crazed slashes of combat, but the slower manipulations of torture.

Hand bandaged, he turned his attention back to the Hellhound, presently being inexpertly gutted. Annoyance and disappointment colored his voice as he intoned, "Aw, bloody 'ell... I was hoping to save that hide. Next time something like this happens, you let me do the cuttin'! Need a new coat now, I do..."

The thought of his destroyed coat allowed a depressed sigh to escape, and he covered his face with his good hand. His eyes widened as his body reported pain from the gesture. While not scar worthy, the right side of his face had been flash burned, effectively removing the hair therefrom.

"Bloody Hell!"

< Message edited by Sigil -- 11/12/2015 14:47:16 >
AQW  Post #: 152
11/12/2015 21:29:36   
Krey
Member

Her second dagger struck through, and Verna's grin widened slightly as it plunged deep into the eye socket, causing the beast to rear back as a pillar of flame rose from it's mangled face. The damage that had done was good, certainly; the beast wasn't done, but it was certainly in pain and, even better, half-blind now thanks to the sharp implement jutting out from its eye socket. She hadn't figured on her maneuver killing it, but as it happened, her attack had provided the means to the fiery beast's end.

Keystone saw the opportunity, and wasted no time in seizing it. He rushed forward, and a single palm drove the dagger deep into the creature's brain, though the action had come at a cost. As the dagger buried itself into the beast's skull, the creature's head erupted in flame, engulfing the brawler's hand and quite literally setting his clothing alight. Sana directed him to get back, but he was clearly quite distracted with the fire licking up his clothing. That, and she had no water with which to help quite at hand, and he seemed to be handling it... Wait, no, he was certainly not handling it okay. He'd actually just started to run 'round the tavern, cursing and battering everything in range.

Deciding that not only could she not help, but that she herself was in danger if she stayed within range, she tucked herself into a corner of the tavern, waiting until the man had gotten himself free of his garment before she allowed herself to move again. As she stood, she observer Sana, who was busy carving the creature up, and requested vials in which to hold the blood. She herself didn't carry vials, and so would not be of any help, though she imagined Nilburke might be. Deciding there was nothing remaining for her to do, she wandered over to the wall where her first knife had stuck, retrieved it and slipped it into the sheathe on her left arm.

That done, she wandered over to see how things were going with the hound, and took a glance at Keystone in the meantime. He was currently bandaging his wounds, and her eyes followed the lines of the scars on his torso where they led, her lips twisting slightly in distaste. Not at him, so much as the job done on his body. He'd led a colorful life, if the tales carved into his body were any indication. She returned her attention to the beast just as Keystone complained about Sana's job of carving up the hound, which left her chuckling.

“Wonder if there's anything left of my knife.”
AQ  Post #: 153
11/12/2015 21:49:15   
Draycos777
Member

“I...err… J-juust the Holy Orders.”

Arche put all her focus in not laughing as Woyadei fumbled his way through an answer. Arche quickly took a more serious expression as the undead recovered and responded to her first questions.

“Mages, bow-wielders and ambushes are accounted for. I will demonstrate.”

Arche watched as Woyadei threw his polearm into the air, and with a snap of the fingers, lightning chained from one target to the next. She had to admit, that he was quite skilled. However, Arche had seen someone else who was just as good in terms of energy usage.

"-True, that would work on a caravan or two, however, I happen to know, by listening to Borius, that one of the leading general's is an Energy mage. Apparently one of the few things that snaps her out of laziness is the thought of fighting an Ice or fellow Energy wielder."

Arche thought about saying more, but then shook her head. No matter what she said, it didn't really matter, and besides all that, why should she even care? She had already said that it worked out for her which ever side loses or wins. She just couldn't understand why someone would try and fight a kingdom like the Holy Order by their self. While she hated to admit it, the Holy Order is one of the oldest and the vastest kingdoms of Lore. Unlike the Kingdom of Altern, which Arche's family belongs to, was a rather small kingdom in comparison. She doubted she could change the undead's mind either way, so she decided to change the subject.

"-You said you are from Shuischeier. It's a territory of the Dominion, no? What is it like?"
AQ  Post #: 154
11/12/2015 22:43:33   
Apocalypse
Member

In an act of brashness belonging solely to the bold and the foolish, Keystone leaped towards the beastie. Proving his place among the former (and earning the nickname bestowed by Nilburke), Brute slammed his open palm against the hilt of the dagger protruding from the creature's eye. Blade sunk deep into its skull in an assault that would have felled almost any living being and a great number of undead. Keystone's boldness was rewarded with the beastie's dying throes; his foolishness was repaid with a wreath of flames that spouted from the monster's head. Tongues of fire licked up and around the warrior's arm. This was deemed a mild inconvenience to the slayer who turned his attention instead to his burning coat. Brute managed to take it halfway off before it got caught on something, leaving him to flail it around like a one-winged fire chicken trying to achieve flight. In his bout to extinguish the flames, Keystone may have caused more damage to the tavern than the monster had. Wheat gave him no heed as she made a straight line for the corpse.

The goblin jumped from the table and landed with a soft thud that was pathetic in comparison to the beastie's fall. Wheat was preoccupied with ensuring the monster's death, Brute with extinguishing himself, Candles with retrieving her knife, and Nilburke had his own post-battle agenda to complete. Glasses clinked as the goblin rummaged through his sack. A bottle filled with a clear liquid rolled out and across the floor as Nilburke stuck his head inside. Faint mumblings of swears in one of the goblin tongues escaped through the fabric before the alchemist backed his way out with his hands full of glassware.

"Way ahead of you," Nilburke called out to Wheat. No less than five empty vials were in his clutches, along with a small jar of cerulean cream that was wider than it was tall. The glass jostled for a moment as he shuffled them so he could slide the jar across the table. "Slather some of that on the burns," Nilburke said as he walked away. "Will help soothe it and prevent infection, though it won't regrow your hair." He turned his head to Candles. "Might want to lend a hand with that. He's only got the one, you know."

He plopped himself next to Wheat to get to work. Collecting blood was not a difficult task, but care was called for when dealing with an unknown substance (even if Wheat appeared to have no visible adverse reactions to it). Besides, making a mess was a trait unbecoming of an alchemist.

Judging from the brief encounter, it would be simple to weaponize the blood into a Combustor. Warming potions and temporary fire-immunity concoctions were also within the realm of possibility. Tedious testing could also bring some other attributes to the surface and expand the versatility of it. However, a little knowledge from an expert would slash the time faster than a dozen alchemists performing experiements. "Immunity to fire, mild pyromancy, vulnerability to silver, and general pain in the arse. Any other properties I should be concerned with?"
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 155
11/13/2015 8:39:44   
Remaint
Member

"-True, that would work on a caravan or two, however, I happen to know, by listening to Borius, that one of the leading general's is an Energy mage. Apparently one of the few things that snaps her out of laziness is the thought of fighting an Ice or fellow Energy wielder."

The conquistador smiled.

“This, is a prime point. For every soldier sent to pursue a rogue individual, there is a soldier less fighting on the frontline. Even better if the individual is a general, for a worthy commander surely wields a notable force; force that will be absent should they leave their post. If I can just create enough unnecessary troop movement, there may be enough chaos for the Demon Kingdom to prevail.

It is simply a shame, that she and I are opposing each other on principle. I would like very much to observe her capabilities, and would be eager to spar, test, learn, if not for the inevitable disruption of paladins.”

"-You said you are from Shuischeier. It's a territory of the Dominion, no? What is it like?"

Woyadei allowed his gaze to rise toward the sky as he pondered the question. The conquistador wanted to say he knew the territory by heart, having lived there for some significant decades and still regularly travels to the region, but even after spending so much time in its presence, many things remained rather unknown. That’s not to say he knew little of it, however, as there is yet much material the conquistador could describe regarding Shuischeier.

“Yes, a territory within the Dominion. Tranquil, isolate, antarctic, could be terms one may use upon immediate observation. Its basic geography is somewhat ironic, being many isles while apart of an archipelago. A chain of islands within a chain of islands. Perhaps one-million and four-hundred-thousand square kilometres in total area. A great many mists permeate the region, hugging the jagged mountains, sleeping over the fell gorges, caressing the plentiful bodies of water. Fjords, coves and rivers are many, often serving as refuges for marine crews desiring to avoid the giant ice walls, icebergs and rogue waves that patrol the surrounding ocean.

Numerous towns dot Shuischeier, made of necrowood and hide or simply varying sorts of icy material. Somewhat less numerous are military bases, constructed of concrete, steel and aeternasphalt. A rare city lays here or there, with mining shafts ever-deep, ever enigmatic, and docks, massive enough for any ship. Many places are restricted to the common undead like myself, usually within, or rather, under, the cities.

The natural, maybe unnatural I guess, humanoid habitants of Shuischeier is kind of odd. You have the expected spectres and skeletons, mermaids and sirens, but then you have golems and colossi. The latter two could not be traced to any summoning magic, and many of them predate even the organisations preceding the Confederacy, concurrent with the Age of Dragons. For golems, you have the normal types; masses of earthly material bunched into crude limbs and vaguely human-ish forms. Then you have the Granitiers. Short as goblins. Big, round, smooth heads with big, round, weirdly coloured eyes, accompanying equally smooth, cylindrical bodies with stubby legs. They have no arms, yet a pair of floating, mitten-like hands. They are also solid, damned solid, absolutely rock-solid, making one of the greatest pikemen ever to be fielded...maybe not ‘men’, but pike-clay-doll-people...I’m digressing.

The weather is usually overcast or snowy. Rain and hurricane are not uncommon, and neither are thunder and waterspout. The flora is...soft. Pleasantly so, I think. Stubby trees, patches of leafy things, both furry and deep white or green may be strewn about. An occasional purely white flower may be present. The fauna is typical to frosty areas within the Dominion, with giant wintery fleas, millipedes, land lobsters, moths and normal sized penguins flopping about here and there. Their colours are usually within the brown-gray-white-black range. Some oddities existing are what appear to be alive icebergs, and alive pillows. The former's interiors are blood red, the latter's are simply gelatinous. The former is hostile, aggressively so, and the latter is benign, and extremely durable, but fluffy.

In short, Shuischeier is hazardous, cold and industrial. Maybe charming. Natural perils like avalanches, blizzards, maelstroms and tsunami are frequent. So are unnatural dangers in the form of violent undead, piracy, abductions and hostile military patrols. The common business lay in mining, metallurgy, shipwright, armouring, engineering and alchemy. Rarer business lay in cryomancy, hydromancy and obscuromancy. Shuischeieren results involve the most powerful navy of the six territories, the most venerable of mercenaries and many of the innovative technologies invented. I have much to fear, respect and wonder from my home territory.”

Describing the particular domain that governs him, Woyadei eventually found his mind on the obvious question that follows.

“What about you, Miss Valher, how is the territory you support?”

< Message edited by Remaint -- 11/13/2015 9:15:56 >
AQW  Post #: 156
11/13/2015 19:31:00   
Draycos777
Member

Arche listened closely as Woyadei spoke of his homeland.

"Numerous towns dot Shuischeier, made of necrowood and hide or simply varying sorts of icy material. Somewhat less numerous are military bases, constructed of concrete, steel and aeternasphalt. A rare city lays here or there, with mining shafts ever-deep, ever enigmatic, and docks, massive enough for any ship. Many places are restricted to the common undead like myself, usually within, or rather, under, the cities."

"Necrowood? Is that like Manawood, but with a darkness attribute?"

Arche's ears pricked up when the undead mentioned mining, it was a subject she was interested in. Hearing how another world did they own mining might help her. She listened to the rest of Woyadei's story, though she did wonder what a penguin was. It sounded adorable, well, at least the one that wasn't trying to kill you.

“What about you, Miss Valher, how is the territory you support?”

The question didn't surprise her. Arche thought that he might ask, and she didn't mind sharing, it wasn't as if Woyadei was likely to visit, but her fellow dragon-kin might be wondering what kind of place her homeland is like. Closing her eyes in remembrance, Arche recounted the picture that appeared in her mind.

"-You may recall me speaking of the mountains to the west. That is the land the marks that edge of the kingdom we are currently within now, Altern; it is also the land of Valher. Home to a vast sea of evergreen pines, and two settlements. A town just slightly larger than the one we are headed to, and a village. During the winter it can get quite cold, though never enough for it to snow except at the mountain caps and in the lowest point of winter. Such mountain cap snow, insures that there are plenty of rivers and lakes around. The nights can seem terrifying to those not used to night in a forest, however, with the cursed forest so close, most would take a night in Valher over a night there. In fact, the only way to get to the cursed forest from this side, is to pass though my family's land, and one can very well notice the change once they cross forests. Although the cursed forest is so close, our land is quite safe, thanks in part to a brood of Nightmare Wyverns that serve under my family. Nightmare Wyverns are darkness aligned Wyverns native to the cursed forest, but these ones were smarter and realized that they could enter Valher and eat the same food with less work or other creatures trying to kill them involved. In return for helping the people of the land, they are cared for and feed by them.

-As for what people do for a living. Well, my family has been in the magical item business for awhile, but that is mostly my mother, little sister and myself. And while that does bring in quite a bit of money, my family's income comes mainly from what my father oversees. Which is mining. The mountain the my home and the bigger of the two settlement rest on is actually a long-since dead volcano. Since we aren't sure whether or not the volcano may become active again, we've placed a limit on how far down we will dig. However, the mountain is fairly wide, so such a limit isn't too much of a problem. People with in the towns help mining precious gems and crystals, which are then cleaned and shipped to various gem stores around the kingdom, own by my family; most within the cities. The main buyers of the crystals are the Drakels. Those that show promise with magic normally tend to learn obscuromancy, geomancy and alchemy. Geomanist help with the mining, while Obscuromanist study the cursed forest and manawood. This helps us defend against whatever may come out of there to attack us. Alchemist focus on crafting potions, scrolls and remedies, as well as studying manawood also. I do not know if you're nercowood is like manawood, just a dark version, but, manawood is from a tree that is able to absorb spirit energy from around it. With it we were able to invent energy absorbers at allow us to harvest pure energy straight from the air and use that energy to power our settlements. The energy itself comes in the shape of glowing yellow crystals.

-Other than those, there are, of course, lumber mills. We also raise mountain goats and rams. We thought of expanding into masonry, however, there are already a few respected stoneworkers around, so we decided against such actions. Any stone that is mined out of the mountains is used for building with."
AQ  Post #: 157
11/15/2015 21:19:29   
Afina
Weaver of Epic Yarns


 “You know what, I don’t give a good damn what you wanted to use this thing for,” Sana snapped as her eyes narrowed but she kept working. “You have never dealt with these things before. Want to know how I know? You let your fist be that close to it as it was killed. So that tells me that you haven’t a clue what to carve out of this thing and what not to or what it could be used for,” she added in a cold voice as she continued before sheathing her dagger and wiping her hands off on a rag. Sighing slightly she glanced back over to Keystone and shook her head.

“Anyways, there is nothing that hide could do that this blood can’t in the right hands. I may not carve like a pro but I do know what to do with this beast. You want to carve it up now, go for it. I removed all the danger from it and the meat is actually very tasty in the right hands.” Her voice calmed somewhat as she rose from her spot. She wasn’t about to be talked down to over a hide after what just happened.

“And another thing, next time, instead of whining like a baby over how someone carves, how about a simple thank you to the very person you are snapping at for having the knowledge and silver to be able to take the beast down to where it could be killed. Or is that beyond you?” she said as she reached into her bag and handed over a small single blue vial to Keystone.

“Just pour this over the burn, it will sooth it, stop the infection and by tomorrow the only thing you will need to worry about is how long until the hair grows back on your knuckles. The burn isn’t too bad, you got lucky,” she said motioning to thick scars that ran from her chin and covered nearly a quarter of her torso on front and back and down her arm to her elbow. “This is what happens from a full blast with a full heal from a cleric. You’ll be fine.”

“Here’s your knife,” Sana said as she stepped over to Verna and handed it back to her. “I bit knicked up but should be okay. I would suggest though getting some new ones. Silver works well on hell beasts and a lot of others things, it’s a good staple to have. Flint against rarer ones where I come from. Who knows what else we will see around here with the fog. I suggest a trip to the black smith.”

Sighing slightly she gathered the silver arrows she had shot into the beast and sat down at the bar, cleaning them off before dropping them back into her quiver. This was not the type of day she was expecting to have. Looking over to Nilburke she nodded slightly.

“The blood we can use for a lot. It doesn’t take much for the potions. I haven’t made any but I have the script from the Alchemist who used the blood I gathered from the last one with the recipes. If you can handle it would be good for all of us. There is one that will give immunity to fire on armor and clothing, one that creates an explosion on impact, another to infuse a gemstone to use as a fire source when struck to create fires, one to give yourself temporary fire breath, one to heal frost and one that creates a mist of fire,” she said as she rubbed her temples.
Post #: 158
11/16/2015 0:43:17   
Sigil
Member

Keystone stood silently and cocked his head to the side, brow furrowing, a look of incredulity spreading across his face. For a moment, he looked like a large mastiff whose handler gave it a command in a lesser known dialect of Tazmanian Devil. He made no move aside to continue winding his bandages around his hand as the barrage of stress influenced nagging fusilladed at him, prompting the singed pugilist to give serious wonder as to whether this woman went to the same finishing school as his mother.

"I don't give a two-copper bawdy's knickers 'bout the creamy center, y'ladyship. Blood ain't gonna warm my back when it's cold out. Won't flap dramatically in the breeze, neither. My mum gave me that coat, one of the last things she did." he intoned in a low voice through clenched teeth, "But by all means, thank you. Wouldn't've known about the silver."

He accepted the vial of blue stuff, set it on the table in front of him, and began unwinding his bandages. "Appreciate, Nilburke, but I'm going to want the quicker solution tonight, I think. Just because we're in civilization, don't mean things'll keep civilized." Keystone slid the jar of ointment back to the Goblin, and nodded slightly in thanks.

After prying open the vial with his teeth, he applied the azure balm to his liquid-crispy hand and began rewrapping the makeshift bandages. As he worked, he spoke aloud, "Last time I saw a Hellhound proper (and you are correct, Miss Sana, I have not fought one myself), it was smaller, faster, and traveled in a pack. And it didn't give a rat's fornicative gravy 'bout silver, neither. It was cold-wrought iron what did it. I had half a mind just then to whip out my cast-iron and play "Go Fetch" with the bugger's gonadery."

His mind briefly toyed with the idea of getting a running start and sliding on his knees under the devil pooch, swinging his cast-iron cooking pan at the beast's drooping scrotum. Considering what had happened with its head, he hardly wanted to be at face level ground zero with fiery, exploding testicles splatting burning love slime in a sphere of wriggling disgustingness. Worse things than a burnt hand were likely, had he taken that route.

Keystone's own hypothetical screams at such an outcome occupied the foremost part of his brain for a moment, which sounded a little like, "AHHH! GODS IN HEAVEN, IT'S IN MY EYES! WHY?!?!" and/or "BLOODY HELL IT TASTES LIKE MUSKY HAMSTERS! WHY IS IT SQUIRMING? AAHHHHHH!". Naturally, even if he had survived, he could have never used his pan again.

His entire body shuddered slightly as he tried to banish the thought, with varying degrees of success.

Keystone thought about his coat again. Hellhound rawhide would have made a fine replacement, but if push came to shove, he could always procure a new one when he got back home. It wouldn't be the same one, nor would it be a prize from something formidable he helped to kill. It would be adequate to keep the cold off of his bones, though. Besides, there was likely to be another opportunity to bludgeon something else to death sooner or later that could give him a respectable sheet of skin.

The burly fighter would miss that coat, probably would look back at it with wistful nostalgia. Unfortunately, this was the cost of doing business when you were a realmhopping adventurer.

"Ey, anyone seen the barkeep?"
AQW  Post #: 159
11/17/2015 9:01:57   
Remaint
Member

“...Home to a vast sea of evergreen pines, and two settlements. A town just slightly larger than the one we are headed to, and a village. During the winter it can get quite cold, though never enough for it to snow except at the mountain caps and in the lowest point of winter. Such mountain cap snow, insures that there are plenty of rivers and lakes around...”

Contemplating the noble hunter’s descriptions, Woyadei had to say the Land of Valher seemed to be quite a nice place. Small villages in company with thick forests and many bodies of water usually signed for tranquility, at least in foreign lands. That’s quite the general statement, however, and the conquistador wasn’t surprised to hear of potential misfortunate occurrences that soon followed. He was amused upon the mention of guardian wyverns being in a sort of symbiotic relationship or contract with the Valher family. The word used, brood, may imply that Valherland was small, or that Nightmare Wyverns held a large sphere of influence. In either case, Woyadei wondered about the capabilities wielded by those within the Cursed Forest. What abilities can such entities hold, to both threaten and be ward away these wyverns? In close vein, what can these Nightmare Wyverns do?

“...People with in the towns help mining precious gems and crystals, which are then cleaned and shipped to various gem stores around the kingdom, own by my family; most within the cities. The main buyers of the crystals are the Drakels…”

Quite interesting. A mine filled with primarily gems would certainly attract the humane types-or draconic guardians, according to some other Lore-. The Valhers were rightly wealthy to be able to hold dominance over the resourceful ground. Upon the undead conquistador’s own Shuischeier, it was common for innumerable corporations from both within and exterior of the territory to seize, sabotage and simply war over the many mines that yielded metals, crystals, oils, enigmatic artefacts on top of the mysterious derivatives of Aeternasphalt and Ghossinore.

Woyadei had learned early on that combat within mines were to be dreaded. Hidden explosives, cramped corridors and the omnipresent threat of cave-ins are among the convincing reasons as to the fearsome reputation of literal undermining operations. For even those endowed with an eternal longevity, it would be an absolute curse to spend it entombed within darkness and earth, ever struggling to crawl free.

There was a minor difference to fighting underground within icy Shuischeier. In addition to the looming, stoney grave, there many times lay the risk of rogue torrents over flowing inland. The results were easy to speculate; with the threat of a watery end crashing upon one’s head, where else may one go but down? To that point, it was futile. Once a poor sod reached the bottom, pressure and blackness would easily lay claim to them. It took some remarkable fortune for a survivor to shamble upwards, passed the herculean-weight debris, the murky blindness, and the disorienting gravity. Especially so given how deep some Shuischeieren mines can be. Yet obscurity and tunnels didn’t hold the monopoly on trouble. Some deposits of ore laid not in solid earth, but frozen bergs. In this case, turmoil can come about in having to climb under and around kilotons of solid ice logged by freezing, yet raging water, probably still black as one abyss or the other.

All-in-all, the conquistador could do without having to venture about subterranean locations.

“...I do not know if you're necrowood is like manawood, just a dark version, but, manawood is from a tree that is able to absorb spirit energy from around it. With it we were able to invent energy absorbers at allow us to harvest pure energy straight from the air and use that energy to power our settlements. The energy itself comes in the shape of glowing yellow crystals…”

If their spirit energy is anything like the stuff within the Dominion of Mist, then Valherland may encounter some serious issues including but not limited to abductions, disappearances, illusions, blackouts, and straight-up corruption in all of its senses. Out of the six territories, only Morseren can state they as a whole can manage to wield spirits with holistic impunity. Yet chances are, Valherland’s spirit energy is nothing like what Woyadei’s familiar with, and its rather similar to heat-exhaust or simply something non-malevolent to begin with.

The dragon-kin mentioned Drakels again, and its apparent they, like the secretive branches within the Confederacy, are very advanced in technology. The undead molniromancer only holds suspicions of his organisation because they used him as a walking battery sometimes, which allowed him sight over some truly peculiar things.

“Necrowood can be aptly described as Dark Manawood based upon what you say. Necropaleontologists categorises it in a manner that surprised me; it's an ancient infection that stemmed from Morseren, slowly invading trees dying or long dead and seemingly granting life, along with major shifts in structural properties. Besides acting similar to iron in that fusions with certain elements can result in very solid constructs, Necrowood both or either absorbs radiation of varying sorts, or emanates questionable energies one may term dark. I’ve heard some necrowood trees and roots pulse with the heat of dead realms.

The stuff is quite abundant all over the Dominion. Well, I say that, but it's kind of difficult to obtain in Shuischeier, being usually encased in boggy or hard-frozen tundra. Due to Necrowood’s usual state of abundance, the Dominion’s habitants craft many tools with them, from catalysts and conductors which I don’t understand, even as a steamship engineer, to the innerworks of ironclad ships and hafts of weapons, as in my own Styrian Glaive.”

The glaive’s haft, hence its material’s name, flexed and sprung like quality tempered steel, only if an insurmountable force were to be applied to it. Additionally, one who’s particularly sensitive to otherworldly energies may detect a faint pulse of creeping power radiating from it.

“...We also raise mountain goats and rams. We thought of expanding into masonry, however, there are already a few respected stoneworkers around, so we decided against such actions. Any stone that is mined out of the mountains is used for building with."

How nice. From what the undead heard, and only heard, since he shouldn’t really be eating without a functioning stomach, goats and rams tasted great. To compare, the Dominion's corporations or simply small groups of individuals within Shuischeier raised aforementioned giant arthropods along with the usual things from the sea; crabs, shrimps, manatees, seals, sharks, squid, and so forth.

Then, an old memory struck Woyadei and he grinned.

“I had a strange assignment once...Some highly chaotic condottieri from Karaser, by name of Qoliquen, Qaliniq, Cereval and Severin commanded Kleinschar Thirty-Three, my company at the time, to build constructs on the Holy Territory, Remilon. They said they were relaying an order from the Sea Lord of Shuischeier, but we knew something wasn’t proper when we saw the smirks and grins. Still, we thought it was amusing as well, and so our hydromancers and cryomancers, under Qarusis, summoned basically a mountain of Glacenaet, or Shuischeieren Ever-Ice onto the front of an Inquisitor Fortress under the cover of night. Were the paladins bloody shocked when they awoke the next morning to an invasion of igloos and snowmen plastered all over their walls and towers!

Veteran stealth specialists, obscuromancers accompanied us you see, and so we had free reign to sculp toonish-penguins, foxey-women, obscenities, goddesses in lewd bondage, minotaurs ploughing elvish saints in the arse, and whatever else directly onto their sacred defenses! It was hilarious, if not glorius.

That load of shenanigans is one reason I work under the Confederacy~

...Eventually of course, being a Confederate Territory and Kill-joy, Remilon issued complaints and discipline was scheduled. We thought we were in for something, when the Night Lord of Noctenvale, Ullekon himself, showed up, but we were pleasantly wrong. On the surface, he spoke harshly and firm, but his words were ironic with wit. They could be summarised as him mocking Remilon in manners most punctual and gentlemanly. The whole company was bursting with laughter at his every pause. It was just so strange, to see someone so authoritative and immensely powerful entertaining the idea of a military prank.”

< Message edited by Remaint -- 11/17/2015 12:11:34 >
AQW  Post #: 160
11/17/2015 16:21:13   
Bastet
Member

Though Arche had scrambled to ensure Woyadei would change his speech about ignoring prejudiced people, it was a mostly useless effort on her part. Rajiri had already decided that listening in on what the zombie was saying was worth it, rather dedicating her attention to whatever was on her mind and dragging the corpse on than wasting her time listening on the tales that were being spun between her kin and the corpse she wasn’t dragging.

She only really listened in when Woyadei began talking about desecrating the fortress of some holy order or another. Rajiri had never cared for religion: bigots who put their gods before themselves were precisely the kind of people that disgusted her most. She didn’t see a point for ruining one’s body with penitence for the sake of having a marginally better chance of finding an afterlife that might not even exist. She metaphorically also spat in the face, and even literally, once, of those who assumed to have reached some moral high ground against her simply because there was a spirit in the sky who presumably protected them. Her own idea is that a god was worth worshipping only if she felt like humiliating herself, the entity actually existed, and the rewards that were to be gained could be reaped in a reasonable amount of time. Her purely pragmatic view of the world prevented her from understanding why so many people in Lore would degrade themselves willingly for the sake of faith, and after a few years of travelling it still left her confused.

“...veteran stealth specialists, obscuromancers accompanied us you see, and so we had free reign to sculp toonish-penguins, foxey-women, obscenities, goddesses in lewd bondage, minotaurs ploughing elvish saints in the arse, and whatever else directly onto their sacred defenses! It was hilarious, if not glorius.”

The red dragon chuckled, not bothering to mask her mood as she usually did.

Especially after the zombie had given practical demonstrations of how his lightning magic worked, Rajiri wasn’t impressed. She had already understood that Woyadei could apparently defend himself in combat, defeat any opponent and live forever, and she had almost fallen asleep while he was enunciating his numerous capabilities. She just wished that her kin allowed her to have a decent fight with the boasting corpse, and she was almost thinking of going back on her word again before her thought processes carried her back to what she was previously considering. She spoke, knowing that she may be interrupting the conversation her kin seemed to be engaged in.

“Sounds like you had a fun time working those holy walls. I bet I would have loved to have been in your company that night, and I probably wouldn’t say this often. Too bad I can’t perform such magnificent acts on my own, the only magic I wield isn't versatile enough to go ice sculpting with. Good on you, though, I never enjoyed the company of religious prudes.”
Post #: 161
11/17/2015 20:40:39   
Remaint
Member

When a little laughter filled the air, Woyadei could not even assume who was the source. On one hand, you have the stone-faced noble hunter, on the other, you have a perpetually sour-mood dragon very likely filled with murderous intent. Then you have a millipede, which begs no explanation.

“Sounds like you had a fun time working those holy walls. I bet I would have loved to have been in your company that night, and I probably wouldn’t say this often. Too bad I can’t perform such magnificent acts on my own, the only magic I wield isn't versatile enough to go ice sculpting with. Good on you, though, I never enjoyed the company of religious prudes.”

Did Rajiri actually converse something other than a death threat? Well, it would be a waste not capitalise on this.

“As it is, I couldn’t ice sculp with my magic either, nor remain undetected if I tried. Some dozens of obscuromancers were trained in telepathy, and so by linking physical contact with one alongside a hydromancer or cryomancer, they could spray your thoughts onto the present ice. You would have had a great time with us!”

The orange dragon’s response was thoroughly unexpected. If anything, the conquistador could have anticipated some show of distaste for committing an act perhaps vulgar.

"Also regarding my company; much of them are rather different than myself. A more uplifting attitude, a less unsociable demeanor, probably better smelling if their lively looks say anything. They'll find you nothing short of belonging! Especially those from Karaser, they would find amusement in any personality. If you ever end up dead and undead, stuck in the underworld, you're at liberty to stop by Kleinschar!"
AQW  Post #: 162
11/18/2015 8:39:37   
Draycos777
Member

“As it is, I couldn’t ice sculp with my magic either, nor remain undetected if I tried. Some dozens of obscuromancers were trained in telepathy, and so by linking physical contact with one alongside a hydromancer or cryomancer, they could spray your thoughts onto the present ice. You would have had a great time with us! Also regarding my company; much of them are rather different than myself. A more uplifting attitude, a less unsociable demeanor, probably better smelling if their lively looks say anything. They'll find you nothing short of belonging! Especially those from Karaser, they would find amusement in any personality. If you ever end up dead and undead, stuck in the underworld, you're at liberty to stop by Kleinschar!"

Arche gave a small smirk as she tried to suppress her laughter at the thought of Woyadei trying to carve a giant block of ice with lightning quietly. She could just imagine all the guards waking up at the appending flash and noise, and surrounding the undead.

Still, there was one topic that she didn't want to leave just yet. Arche waved her right hand in rejection.

"-I'll pass. I doubt it'd be possible considering our different worlds probably aren't naturally connected. However, Woyadei, you said that mining was a common business in Shuischeier, no? We use normal manpower with geomancy to help prevent cave-ins. What of Shuischeier? How do you all do your mining?"

Arche hoped that she could improve the mining of her land to help her family and the people that did the dangerous job of working in those shafts. As they walked, Arche's first statement started to bug the back of her mind the more she thought of it.

"Maybe our worlds are connected by means I haven't seen?"
AQ  Post #: 163
11/18/2015 23:48:41   
Apocalypse
Member

Nilburke nodded his head as Wheat rattled off a series of concoctions made from the beastie's blood. He withheld mild disappointment as the list contained nothing new or exciting from the goblins's preconceived list of uses. Not that the blood was not useful - and Nilburke was looking forward to seeing the work of a fellow alchemist - but so far it seemed the monster had no traits different than other creature of flames. Still, just because there were no immediate new applications did not mean Nilburke would not find one in toying with his new plaything. The alchemist hummed to himself as he stoppered the vials and made his way back to the table, swiping up his jar of soothing cream in the process. Brute had made the right choice in picking the archer's potion over his ointment. Hers was a specialty for the situation while his took the more general heal-all approach.

He slapped three vials on the table, the glass clattering against the wood. "One for Wheat, one for Candles, one for Brute," he said pointing to each in turn. "Spoils for slaying the beastie. Trade it, sell it, have me or another craft potions for you of it, whatever you choose." Not everyone had a need for the frost cure or spit fire, but having the option was always preferable. Nilburke was keeping two for himself in one part for his collector's fee and another as a bargaining chip in case the merry band decided to grace Hrah Thorn with their presence. Sneaking a small party into the Academia Collective would be a nightmare, but a vial of blood from an alternate-dimension flame creature could turn many a blind eye.

With a small hop, the goblin landed back on his stool only to sigh as he caught sight of his tankard rolling away on the floor. He would have to order a fresh one when the barkeep peeked out of whatever hidey-hole he had wedged himself in. Nilburke turned his attention back to Wheat. "So questions you may not have answers to: One, do you anticipate more of those beasties or other such monstrosities? Two, would you consider silver a good investment for whatever else may follow you? And three," he glanced side to side, "have you scene that bloody barkeep? Drinks are in order here, if I remember those little knight-tales correctly."
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 164
11/20/2015 8:09:59   
Remaint
Member

“...However, Woyadei, you said that mining was a common business in Shuischeier, no? We use normal manpower with geomancy to help prevent cave-ins. What of Shuischeier? How do you all do your mining?"

Woyadei’s sight lowered as he considered the noble hunter’s question. There were easily hundreds of mining operations and sites within Shuischeier and it took him a moment to consolidate the general information.

“Common, yes. I don’t directly forsee the business itself, but your land’s method do account for a significant amount of Shuischeieren experience. Other methods include specialised Morserenic or Harrowshreiken geomancy without conventional aid, pure manpower in the form of unliving hordes, or assisted hydromancy. These are the efficient methods. The first is due to the amount of labourers; although expensive, only few are required for decent results. The second is again due to labour amount, but reversed in philosophy. Cheap and many could be the common undead and alchemised golem. The third is a sort of compromise. The operating teams consist of scores or hundreds of individuals either mundanely mining or weaving fluid directly into rock, expanding or eroding as necessary.

Inefficient, but still done methods involve brutishly blasting away rock and ice with amassed mystic power, heavy artillery or using captured miners who would be unreliably varied in their capability and intent. The first option may involve anything from giant eroding lasers to impromptu volcanoes, grand tsunami to unnaturally oriented waterspouts. The second could have ‘hundred twenty-two millimetre to four-hundred eighty-three millimetre caliber of guns hammering away the earth. The last is dependant, and most speculation is adequate.

In addition, there are times when I neared the mines I could feel a trembling within the very ground, a consistent and ominous trembling that belaid massive power. There are times where I could hear a great rumbling, like the interior of a labourious engine or a roar of a tremendous furnace. If I walk closer, the hiss of something rapidly burning, or gas rapidly escaping. Yet still there are times where eerie flashes of light luminate forth from entry points and vents from tunnels.

On the matter of differing and unconnected realms; I’m here aren’t I? One day it may be you, or someone else Lorian that find themselves within the Dominion of Mist.”

The concept was quite entertaining to the conquistador. With so many intentional teleportations and coincidental disappearances associated with the Archipelago of Fog reported whenever he observes recent, and past, recorded history, Woyadei had begun to question if his realm was a naturally separate one in regards of others.

< Message edited by Remaint -- 11/20/2015 8:28:20 >
AQW  Post #: 165
11/21/2015 17:33:37   
Bastet
Member

“As it is, I couldn’t ice sculp with my magic either, nor remain undetected if I tried. Some dozens of obscuromancers were trained in telepathy, and so by linking physical contact with one alongside a hydromancer or cryomancer, they could spray your thoughts onto the present ice. You would have had a great time with us! Also regarding my company; much of them are rather different than myself. A more uplifting attitude, a less unsociable demeanor, probably better smelling if their lively looks say anything. They'll find you nothing short of belonging! Especially those from Karaser, they would find amusement in any personality. If you ever end up dead and undead, stuck in the underworld, you're at liberty to stop by Kleinschar!"

Rajiri allowed a moment of silence to transpire between the reply of the undead and the moment she spoke her answer. At least, it would have been silence hadn’t her kin and the zombie gone back to talk about masonry, mining and stone cutting: arguments that thoroughly bored the orange dragon to death. She didn’t have a care in the world for civilization, or about jobs that she could force someone else to do for her. How to word her reply to Woyadei was definitely something to ponder about: had he mistaken her sentence as a friendly approach and Rajiri kept talking in these terms, he may be led into thinking that the red dragon was interested in dialogue.

Of course, Rajiri stopped that train of thought as soon as she realized that she could simply answer in a neutral way that probably wouldn’t turn the zombie into even more of an annoyance than he already was. She hadn’t put any frills of friendship into the sentence that had brought the undead closer to her, and her reply was just as uncaring, though lacking in the hate that Rajiri dedicated to those whom she truly wanted to see dead. Not even Woyadei had brought her to the point that she’d kill for any reason other than boredom. In her mind, however, that still remained a step below killing for the sake of a fun fight, an attitude that was usually brought out from her by assassins or other worldly opponents.

“It’s a shame that I don’t plan on dying any time soon, then, zombie. I’ll make a note to that, however, should I visit your land of the dead in the future.”

Still a pointless note, considering I wouldn’t go there without a convincing reason. And an extremely good one, at that.

< Message edited by Bastet -- 11/21/2015 17:34:56 >
Post #: 166
11/22/2015 12:15:40   
Sigil
Member

Bandaged, shirtless, missing half of his facial stubble, partially emasculated by a senior adventuring bowmaiden, and owner of a pile of ash/sleeve cuff that used to be his favorite possession, Keystone internally lamented that he had experienced better days. He pulled off the surviving cuff buttons and shoved them into his pocket. Later, he'd intended to sift through the remains and recover the rest.

Keystone gratefully accepted the glass vial of Hellhound blood, unsure as to what to do with it except to put it in the relative safety of his pack. If a use could be found for it later, great. The resident Alchemist would have favors owed to him by the group with certainty.

While outright payment tended to be the preferred means of trade, Keystone wasn't the type to take all of his money with him on (what he thought was going to be) a standard merchant wagon train. The possibility of anyone accepting an out-of-planar bank note seemed highly unlikely, so the best means of barter available to the realm-hopping pugilist lay with either his purse of silver coins, or his set of skills.

Keystone hoped the gruff little guy needed something guarded or punched into oblivion.

Recalling how much food and drink he got earlier for a silver coin, he expected his basic needs to be met for a while. As he considered large meals and profuse amounts of alcoholic beverages "basic needs", Keystone was probably well enough off.

That tiny scrap of optimism was enough to motivate the large man to take some control of his situation. He finished wrapping his hand, flexed it slightly, and strode over to the gutted corpse of his kill. His knife, the first one he threw, was still in the area, removed and set aside (or merely dropped from the corpse as the cutting began). Deftly picking it up with his uninjured left hand, he looked to the still cutting Sana, and queried with a solid voice:

"That exploding head leave the teeth intact? I fancy making a necklace."
AQW  Post #: 167
11/23/2015 7:40:53   
Afina
Weaver of Epic Yarns


 Sana just smirked slightly as she cleaned her hands off, resting back in a seat the sound of several joints cracking could be heard as she rolled her neck from side to side. A relaxed sigh slipped passed her lips. Much better, she thought to herself before taking the vial from Nilburke and tucked it into the leather pouch fastened to the belt on her hip.

Glancing around she took note of the tavern now that things were calming down, most of the patrons had rushed out the door it seemed during the fight, others were cowered into corners and under tables. The barkeep was slowly peeking his head out from a doorframe which led back to the kitchen. All those that had not fought against the beast from hell looked terrified and Sana could only bring herself to roll her eyes before turning her attention back towards the group.

"I have no idea if more are going to show up but since myself and that last one showed up I wouldn't count it out of the realm of possibilities. Think it would be better if we figured more would show up than just assume they won't," she said as she leaned over the bar and grabbed a bottle of dark liquor and some glasses. She wasn't about to wait on the barkeep to snap out of his shock and awe for a drink.

"Silver is always a good investment where I am from. It hurts anything that is hellbound, evily aligned humans, and so forth. Now I don't use it all the time mind you but enough to always keep a dagger and quiver of arrows on me at all times just on case," she commented as she poured a round of drinks for each of them.

The barkeep seemed to be trying to get her attention, as if he was protesting the fact she was in possession of the bottle. The look Sana shot him was enough to send him scampering back to the kitchen. Sana just sighed slightly, as if she was going to pay for this drink. Everyone was alive, the beast was dead and the tavern was still standing. That was a job well done and earned at least a drink.Though there was still the clean up factor, the carcass had to be dealt with. Turning she looked at the biggest brute in the tavern and motioned towards the remains of the hellhound.

"Alright big and tall, can you toss the remains in the hearth to burn away? As far as teeth go, I wouldn't count on it. You may find one or two scattered around here but for the most part the bone typically turns to dust when that happens."
Post #: 168
11/24/2015 0:09:23   
Apocalypse
Member

Silver would be a reliable investment if tonight was any indication as to what the future would hold. But Nilburke would not do so in forms of daggers of arrows. No, no this goblin would just need a solid piece to melt down into its liquid form or shaved into tiny fragments in a pinch. A fragmentation burst of silver would be the obvious choice would be burn through the valuable metal at a rapid pace. A tinkered with Clouder would be able to create a fog venomous to any with an allergy to silver. A few other possibilities floated through the alchemist's mind but were dismissed on the grounds of costing too much in terms of ingredients. Silver was rare enough to find without sofites having a strong inclination to keep their greasy little paws on them.

Wheat scored a few more points with Nilburke as she produced a bottle of dark liquor and some glasses for the group. He snorted at her response to Brute's declaration of intent for a necklace crafted from the beastie's teeth. "Never figured you'd be one for jewelry, but I'm sure all the lads and lasses find you quite fetching in it. Just make sure you wear more than that when you go out looking for a suitor." The goblin descended into his harsh laugh. He recovered as he reached for the glasses celebrating their small victory. "Here, allow me."

With a gentle hand, Nilburke raised the first glass and gave the contents a good swirl. Most magics depended on sparks and dazzling displays to wow their audiences. These ones were performed by either amateurs or stereotypical show-boaters. Nilburke himself was of the mind that the importance lie in the end result and the theatrics were naught but trifles. To any eye the swirl was just a swirl, but inside the mechanics of alchemy were in full gear. "A small trick referred to as Latent Potency," said Nilburke as he set down the first glass and moved on to the second. "It's the practice - not art, mind you - of raising the potential of an ingredient to its fullest extent." He spoke as he moved from glass to glass repeating the same motion with each one in turn. "Tonight, this means the drink will be a tad stronger and the flavor brought to fruition. Great way to turn cheap drinks into delicious ones." The alchemist set down the last glass and grasped the bottle by its neck to give it the same treatment. "Often used by the most boisterous and rambunctious of the students at Hrah Thorn. A meager purse turns into a wild night, or it's a way to turn some solid coin from unsuspecting nobles." Nilburke raised his own glass to his noise and gave it a sniff, enjoying the now pleasant aroma. "The former frowned upon and the latter outright forbidden by the Academia Collective. Which, of course, does little to stop the bold."

Nilburke raised his glass. "To this merry band, may the gods have mercy on us and the mortals be wary of us!"
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 169
11/24/2015 16:48:05   
Remaint
Member

“It’s a shame that I don’t plan on dying any time soon, then, zombie. I’ll make a note to that, however, should I visit your land of the dead in the future.”

The certain matter was, that a trip to and from the Dominion of Mist was a blurry notion. A path by ship, sail or steam, in a linear direction out or inbound could land a crew, or just an individual, everywhere from an uncharted underworld to a proper living surface. In being apart of ironclad crews steaming outwards from the Dominion, Woyadei had found himself in varying lands wherein ruin reigns supreme, in lands wherein buildings tower to the skies, to lands wherein magic completely fails. It was said that to direct vessels or personnel toward and away from the foggy archipelago precisely, notable preparation must be done. The undead conquistador was not sure of what constitutes preparation, but he could infer that methods ranged from rather blunt, to mystically complex, magically simple, to technologically sharp. Falling through a crack in space, re-materialising after disintegration, hopping through portals were his frames of reference. He heard a hush about journeying forth to the skies some couple times, and beyond, twice.

The skies. Woyadei read of old history that it was said if one ruled the waves, one ruled the world. In his present time, he could tell why it was that the saying no longer holds reign. The engines that churn through air now exist, and populations now turned their sights upwards. While the expanse of water was not known as solid ground, still quite unknown may even that be on the Dominion, there was yet another plane ripe for voyages. It was an amusing thought, to ponder what laid within the ever-dark clouds above.

“Are there things in the sky to visit? Say relics in high altitudes, a castle in the sky, or something.”
AQW  Post #: 170
11/24/2015 23:01:20   
Sigil
Member

Nilburke's "suitor" comment and the harsh laugh at Keystone's expense earned the diminutive utilizer of exothermic compounds a sardonic chuckle and rude gesture involving two fingers. While unsure as to whether said gesture meant the same thing in this plane of existence, or was even considered rude, Keystone was confident that the general idea was communicated efficiently. As if providence agreed with his action, the frayed pugilist spied a single, uprooted fang partially embedded in the wooden flooring. The discovery inspired a more natural smile to creep across the side of his face, and he addressed the situation with the eloquence it deserved:

"I'll get my tooth, Nilby. I'll get it." Keystone bent down to retrieve the pristine bit of infernal ivory with his good hand, and displayed it with just a mote of pride. "I've got a tooth right here..."

Luckily, the discussion around him changed to booze, a topic of which he rarely became bored. Genuine comfort with the idea of another drink before he submerged himself elbow-deep into a carcass filled him, and he heartily partook of the atmosphere (and the alcohol) of togetherly sentiment.

"Gods be merciful, indeed."

The rest of the toast, the part about mortals being wary - seemed to already have come to pass. Looking about, the remaining non-combatants, staff and customer alike, had been strangely silent. Silent and staring, many of them mouth agape, and had been that way for a very long time. It was as if whoever owned or frequented this building, the people most important of this time and place, had juxtaposed with their little group.

The ease with which they rebounded from something as unusual as a hellbeast materializing, being summarily dealt with, and its innards systematically removed and tossed into the central hearth-fire, blood seeping into the flooring (a sight that would cause simple, ordinary folk to empty the contents of their bowels and run away rather awkwardly, shaking a pant leg on the go in hopes of disengaging their foul arsebiscuitry) was the determining factor. Adventurers, true adventurers; people with something to lose, embarking on a life of travel and strife for reasons their own and shouldering burdens few settled folk understand, spearheading the charge of their cause, and taking the lead naturally in situations where it was necessary, separated them from those still in the tavern, meek with awe and no small amount of fear.

Well, the townsfolk were about to have one more show. After finishing his drink in short order, he grabbed a pair of gloves from his pack and settled one over his bandaged hand. Reverently, he procured and unrolled a leather and canvas toolkit, every length of material uncovering a multitude of sharp and unusual objects, their purpose unknown or unknowable unless versed in the profession to which the tools were attached.

As interest in his activities increased, he held one of the more obscure hand tools, a small item with five tiny, inwardly curving circles of reflective metal, sharpened toward the bottom of each gleaming ring. It, like many other of his tools, had the impression that it belonged to a man versed in the torturing arts.

"Yeah, this here's a right nasty one, it is." His voice fell to an antagonistic whisper and his visage darkened, "It's for taking the rind offa citrus fruits... and other things."

In truth, he pulled out his kit for his skinning and deboning tools. Sana had mentioned that the meat was good eating, and he meant to see for himself. It was a simple technique to perform, if you knew what you were doing. Keystone had deftly removed large muscle groups from both horses and dogs in the past, this would merely be an extension of the same.

Despite his injured hand, it took about five minutes. Larger parts meant less exact knifework was required.

"Seems to me, a good drink should be taken with a good steak, friends." Keystone plopped a secondary cut on the bar, within eyesight of the nervous barkeep. It was divided neatly into thick, even portions, save for a tail portion that held the cut together. "A bit of salt and a compound butter, squire," he intoned in his cheerful underclass accent, "And make mine a bit hotter than rare, if you please."

A moment of hesitation on the part of management prompted Keystone, "If'n you prefer, I can come back there and handle it m'self." in a tone that indicated irritation, that wasn't quite a threat. His more cheerful intonation returned immediately, "And if you have the capacity to hot-smoke back there, I'll be with you in twenty."

Turning his head back to the group, he politely inquired of his new friends, "How d'you lot take your steak?"

AQW  Post #: 171
11/29/2015 19:20:54   
Apocalypse
Member

The glass was drained, and his green hand moved to refill it. His sole goal tonight had been to drink his arse off, and while his rear was still quite in place at the moment, the rising heat in his face was a clear indication that he was on the right path. Nilburke gave his cup another swirl and blew raspberries in the general direction of Brute as he worked on the beastie. His earlier taunt, while unfamiliar, would not go unnoticed or unpaid. His mind switched gears to the tooth collected by Keystone and a new possible elixir. Wheat had claimed that the rest of the creature was useless, but no alchemist took such warning without a grain of salt. The beastie had a supernatural resilience to all forms of weaponry not crafted of silver, and while that may lay in the formulaic nature of its compounds and not transferable, the weakness to silver ought to be. A potion that, upon drinking, granted a weakness to silver would be nigh unusable, but an area of effect concoction that gave its target a vulnerability to the rare metal could be prove handy in a number of situations. Granted, this would require his companions to have silver on hand and would be of little use at the moment. But who knew? Perhaps Wheat had gotten this information from her alchemist friend and pursuing such a task would prove futile.

The goblin eyed first Wheat and then Candles. There was no malicious intent in his gaze; just the small realization that Nilburke had yet to acquire either of their 'true' names. He gave a small shrug. Perhaps he should play with himself to see which one would realize the alchemist did not know her name first. Perhaps a gemstone would be awarded to the winner.

Brute returned with his prizes; slabs of meat with their names - nick or not - on them. Nilburke set down his glass to rub his hands together. Trying new meat was always a good occasion. The facts that it came from a conquest and an alternate dimension only sweetened the deal. "One step above bloody, and don't bother with seasonings or what-not." Nilburke preferred to use his alchemy when preparing his cuts, but this beastie was new to him. A baseline would be needed to establish which of its natural flavors needed to be augmented and which ones left behind. Though the 'hot-smoke', as Brute called it, was always a favorable way to cook it.

With the meat some time away and cards - quite literally - no longer on the table, Nilburke clambered himself up onto the furniture's surface. The alchemist had had enough to determine beginning a jaunty, tavern jaunty was a swell idea but enough to dissuade himself on the account that he would fall and hurt himself in the tavern. "Who's to judge?" was always a crowd favorite and would incite other patrons to chip in their verses so Nilburke would not have to carry the song by himself. Much like alchemy, he had all the ingredients and just needed to apply the catalyst. He began clapping and stomping, giving two rounds of each before switching to the other. Then, he chimed in with a voice that was a far cry from both good and bad - perfect for the average chantey.

"They chase us round 'cross fields and backstreets
with hounds and old guards and at-sea fleets
To punish us for a sin
for someone we once had been"

There went the intro, allowing everyone else to prepare their verses whether written of old or made up on the fly. Next came Nilburke's turn.

"I was once a fine young gob
Spritely with my head in fog
Troubled myself with magic and tricks
To combine elements in a mix

Oh, my teachers were a bore! My comrades, a chore!
So I thought to teach myself a lesson!
Played with potions and motions all day long
because of the school I was the best in!

So boom went the smoke! Crackled did the fire!
Listening to those sounds I will ne'er tire!
But of all the memories I could do without
my top would be a hideous horn 'pon my snout!"

The descent into the chorus, now made after every verse to give time for everyone to jump in on the fun.

"Of wild eyes and idles hands
made for trouble in these lands
Of thieves, killers, and traitors are we
but amidst this kind can anyone see
one to make a fuss?
Who's to judge amongst us?"

Chorus end, time for another to jump in. Unless the sight of a dancing goblin on a table was enough entertainment for the rest.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 172
11/30/2015 0:45:50   
Sigil
Member

"Of wild eyes and idles hands
made for trouble in these lands
Of thieves, killers, and traitors are we
but amidst this kind can anyone see
one to make a fuss?
Who's to judge amongst us?"

While not his first choice of lyrics (too close to home), it was a pleasant way of passing time while carving off the largest and choicest cuts of Hellmeat. Being versed in the fabrication of meat, amongst other related skills, this was not an exceptionally long and daunting task.

The large size of the beast again worked to his favor. That, coupled with the fact that he wasn't cutting for single servings. At least not just yet. Primary and secondary muscle groups separated from bone and scraps of hide in hasty motions; his otherwise expert knifework dropping in priority (Hey, found a button!) in favor of expedience.

"Rump... Chuck... Shank... Sirloin..." he rattled off, lining up portions of meat next to him, "..and here's my beauty..."

A little bit more attention was paid to this last cut. It served the same function in all quadruped mammals: To be tender and delicious. "Tenderloin. I've missed you, love. Give Keystone a kiss, eh?" The remainder of his conversation with the meat, short though it was, degenerated to the burly fighter alternating between whispering sweet nothings and nonsensical talk one may give a drooling infant.

The remainder of the carcass, remaining flesh and bone, was then unceremoniously deposited into the large central hearth. Almost immediately, the coarse hound-hair caught fire, sending smelly, acrid smoke skyward.

"Bloody 'ell, I didn't know something could smell like wet dog and burning arse at the same time..." he mused, positioning his newest culinary treats in front of him on the bar.

"Now barkeep, 'ere's the deal: Those steaks from before? You can have one. Nice fat one, right? Take your pick. The rest of this meat - You have your lot prep it up for travel, eh? Hot smoke, sausages, jerky and the like. Stuff that'll last for a while. Don't go gettin' fancy with it, neither. That's for me to do later."

Keystone removed the glove from his bandaged hand, and started to clean up as best as possible. "What you're gonna do: Take this portion," he instructed as he slid a large and wobbly primal cut at him, "and do whatever the arse you want with it." Keystone's underclass colored his next sentence with unintentional humor, "Might I suggest a lovely Mornay Sauce, or a flat cut floured and sauteed with truffle oil?"

"This's the most unique meatstuff on the bloody continent, guv. You can charge what you want, recoup your losses from the damage, eh? A little profit, then?"

He looked to his last cut of meat. Then to the proprietor. Then back to the meat. "One more thing. This loin, cold smoke it. That's it. I'll be around for it, and I will be checking in."

...

"...Hey! Another button!"
AQW  Post #: 173
11/30/2015 16:17:11   
Draycos777
Member

“Are there things in the sky to visit? Say relics in high altitudes, a castle in the sky, or something.”

Arche tilted her head slightly to the left, pondering the question.

"-Yes, quite a few actually. Besides the metal structures that the Drakels are building, there is the ruined, floating castle in the Northern Mountains said to once be the home of a Sky Warden; whatever that means. There's also the Fuji Temple, which is home to many wind elementals and if legend is correct, a strong set of wind gear. There is also the floating Dwarven City to the far South. The Dwarfs there serve the Lord of Energy instead of Earth oddly enough."

After answering Woyadei's question, Arche suddenly picked up her pace and pointed. Following the direction one could see the gate of town.

"-We've made it back," Arche stared at the damage to the front of the tavern; "but the front of the Inn looks different than when we left."

Quickly bringing the Grabbi around to the side of the tavern, Arche entered that tavern and stopped just a fast in her tracks. Quickly bringing up a hand to cover her nose, she groaned.

"-What is that horrid smell? It's like a mix between wet dog and Crystal Harbour's public restrooms during the lunch hour."

Seeing the charred remains in the fire, Arche shook her head.

"-Thing certainly got lively here once we left."

Turning to the large man, who had called himself Keystone earlier in the day, she noticed that he was now shirtless, bandaged and that half of his face had minor burns. Arche walked over to him and stretched out her arms towards his head, though because of their height difference she could only reach to his chest; even while standing on her toes.

"-Head." Arche tried prompting the large man to bend down so that she could reach his face; "-I don't know what happened, but you all obviously fought off something that would have destroyed the tavern otherwise. Without that, I'd have to stay, which would make my job here much harder, so thank you. Come, injuries like this are no problem for me. Your arm seems to already have been worked on."

Arche spoke out to the general crowd that was left in the building.

"-If whatever attacked the tavern was alive, then I'd be happy to buy whatever from the body was leftover. Well, that is if you saved anything or if it was even possible to skin it."

"The tavern is much nicer when it is empty like this. I don't have to speak as loudly for people to hear me."

< Message edited by Draycos777 -- 11/30/2015 16:23:46 >
AQ  Post #: 174
12/1/2015 14:52:09   
Bastet
Member

Rajiri was barely listening to Arche’s remarks about the tavern, when they finally reached town, rather being put on alert by something that she recognized as the smell of an infernal creature. She wasn’t particularly familiar with them, but she remembered the day an entrepreneuring warlock had once decided to attempt conquering the mountain claimed by her father by sending a horde of demons against him. Perhaps in a typical attempt of the kind’s natural affinity for honor and loyalty, they had fled soon after first contact with Gilrond and ditched their master to be left at the mercy of the elder dragon. Rajiri had observed everything from a safe distance, but the ridiculous appearance of the warlock still amused her, so many years after that event: a short gnome with a gigantic ego to match. Naturally, he didn’t survive the day.

Coming back from the memory that had distracted her, Rajiri almost chastised herself for allowing past events to distract her in the face of possible danger. The smell had roused her, yet though it got stronger as the group entered the tavern, it seemed that it simply was a remnant of a concluded fight: the danger was gone, and whatever demon had surged from the infernal dimensions seemed to be suffering an ironic death by burning in the firepit of the building.

The orange dragon sighed at the thought of having to spend her time in such a dismal locale, but it was the price she paid for having chosen to honor herself with the company of her kin. Alas, not all dragons were created alike, and Arche herself seemed to be a lot more comfortable with the idea of socializing with humans as she ran off to attend to a bare-chested man. It was not that Rajiri absolutely despised contact, the actual situation being quite the opposite, but in such ambients she had never found naught but hidden daggers ready to bury themselves in her back. While a town could’ve possibly represented safety for a regular denizen of these realms, it had always been the contrary for her.

In the face of countless smells that pushed her mind to cry for the desire to return to the wilderness, she looked to take a seat in a shaded alcove, only to be almost surprised by the fact that some human ran past her and abandoned the tavern in a panicked fashion. Deciding that whatever had caused the man to run probably wasn’t enough of a concern to her, she sat where he had hid and observed as the rest of her group melded in with the common folk. From what Rajiri had had a chance to note so far, however, this particular tavern happened to be populated by anything but what one would expect to see in a human settlement. The red dragon herself preferred sitting where she could not be easily approached, and the shaded corner she had found was perfect for that: her eyes offered a dim, yet threatening glare to those who happened to look in her direction.

Her distrust did not stop her, however, from having a drink of whatever was in the cup that had been left in the spot she occupied. Its taste was as shallow as her sympathy of lesser races, but almost anything would have done the job after such a long walk.
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